A Journey to Ostagar
by Ravenia
Summary: After the slaughter in Highever, Valora Cousland, the Teyrn's daughter and Duncan, the Warden Commander, travel south to Ostagar to a fateful battle and a new life for the young woman.  This story details that journey.  Complete.


The first time I played I wondered what happened to the PC on her journey from home, what her thoughts might have been and how she interacted with Duncan. I never finished that game (My elven mage was my first PC to make it to the end) but this was born from that first playthrough. This was the first Fanfic I wrote, but this time I had Cadsuane beta read it for me so I think she helped me make it better for which I thank her for her patience and expertise. As always thank you also to Bioware for your wonderful world and characters. I own none of them, just borrowed them for the tale.

* * *

A Journey to Ostagar

Valora stumbled, breathing heavily and trying to get her racing heart into some semblance of a normal pace. _Maintain control_, she told herself. She was a Cousland and she carried the weight of that birthright on her shoulders, feeling the spiritual hands of every other Cousland before her urging her to continue putting one foot before the other.

She looked up and saw the broad back of the man ahead of her. The only thing she could make out was the faint glint of in the rapidly dimming light from the larder on his armor. Were it not for that, he would be as solid as the blackness around them, unseen. Behind them she could still hear the cries in the keep growing less frequent as more of the defenders fell and with each cut off cry she felt the knife dig deeper in her heart.

Tears blurring her vision, she ran into the man in front of her before she was aware he had finally stopped.

"S-Sorry," she stammered.

"Shh, we must be careful. There could be men outside," he said.

She nodded and waited for him to work the latch and open the door to the crisp night air. The weather in Highever was so pleasant this time of year, and at any other time, Valora would've enjoyed the cool touch of the breeze on her face.

She watched the man step out just beyond the door into the alleyway, both blades drawn and ready to deal with any of the invaders who might show themselves. But at the moment, it seemed they had yet to discover this exit from the castle. Determining that they were indeed safe, he sheathed his dagger, but kept his sword ready, and motioned for Valora to come to him. She followed without much enthusiasm.

A sharp cry behind them caused the young woman to turn and start to run back toward the larder.

"Mother!" she called out.

Faster than his age or size would have evidenced, Duncan was on her and subdued her quickly—skill and strength overcoming the young woman before she could react. His hand covered her mouth, stifling her brief cry so it came out as a squeak instead of a call. His harsh whisper near her ear stilled her.

"Don't be foolish, child. Would you have their sacrifice be in vain? Do you _want_ to die? Do you think that would make your parents happier?" he said. Survival instincts engaged, she shook her head. "We need to make haste then."

For tense moments they crouched there wondering if she had been overheard. But when no one found the door leading out, they accepted that, at least for now, they were safe from discovery. Duncan took her hand, forced her up, and literally had to pull her behind him.

* * *

They didn't stop until long after they had put several miles between themselves and Highever Castle.

Only when he was convinced there were no enemies around did Duncan stop and sit on a fallen tree near a brook. He was bathed in sweat and Valora looked as wilted as a waterless daisy. They wouldn't be able to keep this pace up, but fortunately he felt they wouldn't need to now that they had put distance between them and the castle. He bent down to the brook and scooped up handfuls of water quenching his thirst and was aware of the young woman also beside him doing the same. Whatever her feelings on the situation, her survival instincts were good. It boded well for her and Duncan added that to his growing mental list of her qualities. If she survived she would make an excellent Grey Warden.

Seeing a cut on her arm had begun to bleed past the poultice wrapped around it, he dug into his pack to pull out a fresh one. She jumped and jerked away when he touched her arm.

"You're wounded," he said. "It won't do to have this get infected."

Dully, she sat and allowed him to dress her wound. He gently probed it to ensure no infection was evident and no break might be causing further bleeding, and determined the bleeding would stop soon and it wasn't life threatening.

He took a closer look at her. Clear, sky blue eyes brimmed with tears she was struggling to control and her chin in profile trembled with unspoken emotions. She seemed weary, but determined, and he added that to his mental list as well. Her will was strong. He could see why Bryce had fought so hard to keep Duncan from recruiting her, relenting only when it seemed she would perish if he didn't allow Duncan to take her with him. Once she had some age to season her, she would be a force to be reckoned with.

_If_ _she had some age to grow into it,_ he amended his thought. The Joining was dangerous and she may not even survive to join the Grey Wardens. Her beginnings were promising though.

"Do you have any other wounds?" he asked, trying to assess if the blood on her face and armor was hers or that of Howe's men. She either ignored him or failed to hear his question, her mind turned so far inward she wasn't aware of her surroundings. Frowning in concern, he repeated his question. "My lady, does it hurt anywhere else?"

A shake of her head was the only answer she gave and he nodded, satisfied. Not physical pain anyway, but that was the least of his concerns for her. He was more worried about her mental state, but at the moment there was little he could do to attend that. Perhaps when they finally settled down for the night she would be able to speak to him more. He closed his pack and tugged at her arm to get her to rise again. Obediently, she allowed him to lead the way as they picked their way in the light of the rising sun heading southward to Ostagar.

* * *

Traveling most of the day, Valora had begun to drag her feet. Now away from Highever Castle and the combined adrenaline from battle and fear leaving her, Duncan could tell the numbness he'd been dreading was setting into her limbs. Stumbling to the ground, her breath coming in heaving sobs, she struggled to control herself.

Duncan turned at the sound of her falling and waited quietly for her to compose herself. He was exhausted and they had so far to travel still, but he knew pushing her now might just break her, so he allowed the storm that had overcome her to pass on its own. Brown eyes filled with compassion, he walked back to her and waited quietly for her to sit up again.

After a time she did, her shoulders set in a resolute line. "Please, Duncan," she pleaded. "I have to rest. I can't go another step."

"Just a little farther, my lady," he tried to make his voice reassuring.

He wanted to get a few more miles between them and Howe's men.

"All right," she agreed. "I will try."

Rising wearily, she took a dozen steps, and then collapsed to the ground, smoke inhalation, blood loss and exhaustion taking its final toll on her reserves.

"Just leave me, Duncan. You owe the Couslands nothing. I release you from your vow," she said.

With a soft exhalation that could almost be called a sigh, he sat down next to her. He wasn't spent, but he was tired, and if she had reached the limit of her endurance, he could accept that. She carried the burden of grief and duty, and he suspected guilt as well, intertwined with a host of horrors she had been witness to last night.

"I do not release you from yours, my lady," he said. "I promised Teyrn Cousland I would see his daughter safely to Ostagar and you will arrive there if I have to carry you the rest of the way. And you promised your father _and_ me that you would accompany me to Ostagar and join the Grey Wardens. Attend to your grief if you must, but we must move forward, always forward."

"All right," she agreed. "Let me just…get my breath a bit."

He nodded and sat quietly before reaching into his pack and pulling out some dried meat and hard biscuit. Breaking off a piece, he handed it to her. She shook her head, declining it, but he forced her to take it. Instead of eating, she sat dully with it in her hand.

"Eat, we won't stop 'til nearly dark. This will be your only chance until then," he said.

She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head again. "I can't. If I eat now I'll just toss it back up before I finish. Please, you either eat it or put it back in your pack. _Maker's breath_, how can you think of eating at a time like this?"

He took it back from her and replaced it in the pack. "We must not squander the time your parents gave us. First, to be a Grey Warden, you must survive. If you get hungry later, tell me, but we won't stop until dusk."

He didn't think she would ask, and he suspected he would probably have to force her to eat later, but she seemed to refresh herself as she sat quietly there, wrapped in her grief. By the time he had finished eating she had managed to catch her second wind.

Brushing crumbs out of his bushy black beard, he swiped a hand over his forehead. Highever was warmer than the southern reaches he had traveled from and he looked forward to getting back to the Korcari Wilds where Ostagar, the old Tevinter fortress, stood as barrier against the barbarians of the past. Now it was a different foe that the walls would see engaged, and Maker willing, they will succeed. They had to succeed or Ferelden would fall.

His mind was already on the battles to come, though he kept a part of it on their surroundings. If anyone approached them, he would know it and be able to respond. For four more hours they continued their silent pace, and Valora seemed to be able to keep up, despite him pushing her to the limits of exhaustion. He hoped when she did get to sleep, she would be so worn out she wouldn't even dream.

The sun was kissing the horizon when he finally called a halt. Any darker and they wouldn't be able to see to make their way, and the terrain had grown less tended and more wild as they had traveled. Even he was having trouble picking his way through the grass. Looking around he decided to chance a fire.

He gathered some fallen wood nearby and opened his pack pulling out his flint and steel and some tinder. Soon, a warm fire was burning in the midst of their camp and he banked it so the coals would burn through the night. He unrolled his bedroll and looked at the young woman again.

She hadn't moved from the spot where she had slumped down dispiritedly in the grass, not even to respond to the fire, though the night air was cool. He moved over to her and offered the biscuit and meat again and set a skin of water next to her.

"Eat," he insisted. "You've had nothing all day and you'll need to eat to keep up your strength. We still have far to travel."

She seemed to regard the dried meat as if it were an unfamiliar object in her hand. Then, without enthusiasm, she began to eat. A coughing fit ensued as she tried to choke the hard, dry meat past the lump in her throat. When she regained her breath she passed the unfinished portion back to Duncan and swallowed a few sips of water. She pulled off her chain mail, then rolled over to her side and lay with her back to him.

He tapped her gently on her shoulder and she rolled over with a sigh to look at him quizzically.

"The bedroll is for you, my lady," he said, gesturing toward the unrolled camp bed.

"Duncan, I…no, I can't do that," she shook her head.

"I insist. You will need every bit of sleep and strength you can muster in the days ahead. Please take it." Then, on a hunch, he added. "For me."

* * *

She nodded, crawled over to the bedroll and slipped inside—lying and watching the fire, feeling its flickering flames draw her in. She couldn't cry in full force yet—the pain was too raw, too new and she had pushed aside her feelings of loss so she could make her way through the wilderness beside her taciturn companion. Tears would have to come later when survival wasn't paramount.

"Duncan…."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Thank you. I realize I'm slowing you down, and you have to get south to Ostagar. I want to get there, too. Fergus may be in terrible danger and…and I have to tell him what happened to Oren and Oriana…." Her voice trailed off.

Her sister-in-law and little six year old nephew had been slaughtered along with her parents and most of the castle staff. The only soldiers who had been left in Highever had belonged to the contingent Valora was to lead while her father, Bryce Cousland, and her brother, Fergus, were fighting the darkspawn with King Cailan. Bryce had sent Fergus on ahead with most of the army Highever had at his command, intending to ride out with Arl Rendon Howe in the morning…this morning in fact. She realized with a jolt, that in the space of one horrible day, her life had been wrenched from her and she had been forced to flee for her life.

Everyone she knew and loved was dead. Maker, she prayed they were dead and not now suffering at the hands of that bastard, Howe. Eleanor, her mother, with her gentle hands and capable demeanor, had always put everyone around her at ease, no matter the circumstance. Mother Mallol, the priestess who had ministered and prayed with the Couslands since Valora had been a small child. Ser Gilmore, a sweet childhood crush that her parents had disapproved of. He was a fine knight, but not a suitable suitor for the daughter of a Teyrn. Her parents had gently steered her from her infatuation, though she had always remained close friends with the handsome redhead. He had been the reason Duncan was in Highever. Bryce had suggested Duncan recruit Gilmore into the Grey Wardens and the young man was certainly excited at the prospect. Now he never would get the chance. He had given his life ensuring Valora and her mother made it to the promise of escape. Her mabari warhound, Hohaku, had gotten separated from them and she had no idea how he fared.

Bryce…. Maker…. Her last image of the man she worshipped, her father, had been so wretched. She had believed him indestructible and wise and eternal. He had managed with Duncan's aid to get to the servants' entrance, but he was a dead man and he knew it. Bled white on the floor of the larder, he had fought to maintain control so as not to frighten his "pup," but Valora had known him too well to be fooled.

She rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut tight to the tears that stung them, denying that memory. She didn't want Duncan to see her blubbering like some stupid child. His steady breathing nearby assured her that he was already sleeping. Balling her hands into fists, she jabbed them under her chin, and after a time, weariness of both soul and body swept her away into a fitful rest.

* * *

Valora woke screaming, waking Duncan with a start.

"Father! Father! No! Don't go!" she cried.

Realizing what was happening, he went to her and put his arms around her, offering what comfort he could. She clung desperately to him, tears finally escaping, finding expression at last in a long, howling wail of agony ripped from the depths of her soul.

Duncan normally wasn't a demonstrative man, holding himself in reserve _especially_ with new recruits, but he couldn't help empathizing with the young woman. His own distant past had known similar loss, and from this well of understanding he was able to draw on his own pain and comfort her as much as someone who has just had her entire family slaughtered can be comforted. He'd wondered just when the breakdown was going to come, and frankly was glad it was sooner instead of later. At least now she could grieve and deal with it in relative safety instead of in the middle of a darkspawn battle.

"Father, Father…. Oh, Maker, why did he do this? Why did Howe betray us? Mother…. Poor little Oren, Oriana…. Oh, poor Fergus, how will I tell him? Oh, Father!" she was babbling now, giving voice to her grief.

"I'm sorry," Duncan murmured sympathetically. "We will inform the king, and Howe will see justice, my lady, I promise you."

"Justice?" she snarled. "I don't want justice. I want to see him _pay _in blood for what he's done! I want to rip his beating heart from his chest and show it to him! I want to squeeze his neck until his eyeballs pop out! I want to…I want to kill his wife and his children while he watches. I want to…to…." Words failed her as her fury caught up to her and she wilted again, sobbing against his arm. "Oh, Maker…Father…I'll never see him again."

"I could tell you and your father were very close," he said. "I am sorry. Howe will pay, but vengeance must wait. The Blight is the greater threat. I know it doesn't seem that way to you now, but you will come to understand."

She pushed herself away and seemed to steel herself once more, locking away her grief for now.

"So you are ready to travel again?" Duncan's query was more a statement than a question.

For an answer, she rose, pulled on her armor and waited for him to gather his things. As she had left Highever with nothing but her chain mail armor and the Cousland family sword, there wasn't much for her to pack. Duncan stopped and stared at her a moment. Something in her demeanor had been familiar to him and he finally realized what it was.

"You have your father's eyes," he said, hoping his observation would bring her comfort. She frowned and paused at his words. "That expression you had just now. Your father had it in his eye that morning I came to Highever. He fought to keep you out of the Grey Wardens. He even offered Ser Gilmore as an appeasement, for in truth, it was _you_ I came to Highever to recruit. I'd heard much of your prowess as a warrior, and the fact that your father was going to leave Highever in your hands spoke well of your ability to lead and your discipline. Focus that same will against the darkspawn, my lady, and you'll make an excellent Grey Warden."

"You think I look like my father?" she asked.

"Around the eyes, yes."

She closed her eyes. She really wasn't ready to talk calmly about Bryce yet.

"What are Grey Wardens anyway? Aldous only told me they were an ancient and almost extinct order of warriors," she asked, changing the subject.

"Grey Wardens are warriors without equal. Taken from all walks of life, they pledge their very lives to defeating the darkspawn wherever they are found," he replied, relieved she seemed to be calmer now.

"You said something about 'the Blight.' What's a blight?"

"A blight is when the darkspawn awaken an Old God, corrupting it and turning it into an archdemon. Once awakened, the archdemon leads the horde to the surface. Darkspawn do raid the surface from time to time in small groups, but a Blight is far more terrible."

"Weren't those…dragons? Tevinter gods?"

"Just so," he nodded. She was, for the most part, rather well educated.

"Aren't the Old Gods just Chantry rhetoric? Something to keep the masses entertained?"

"No, my lady, archdemons do exist."

"So…how do you know it's a blight? Have you seen an archdemon?"

"No, no dragon has been sighted yet, but with all my soul I believe this _is_ a blight

"So how do you _know_ it's a blight?" she reiterated with more emphasis.

"All Grey Wardens have the ability to sense darkspawn, however the oldest among us can sometimes hear the archdemon. In peace time we stand vigil, prepared for what must inevitably come."

"How does the archdemon make things worse, a blight if you will? Howe just seemed to think it was a large darkspawn raid."

"The archdemon 'talks' to the horde, and under its direction, it can mobilize them—turn them into a force almost unstoppable. There have been four blights previously, and they caused untold destruction and loss of lives. The first, in fact, almost wiped out mankind. That was when the Grey Wardens were first formed over a thousand years ago."

"How often do these blights happen?"

"Centuries pass between blights, during which time the darkspawn regroup and increase their numbers. And the whole time they are digging and digging, always seeking an Old God. It calls to them, you see."

Well, from her expression, he could tell she actually didn't see, but seemed to be satisfied with his answer. For a time they walked silently, Valora's thoughts doubtless turned inward, thinking of vengeance against the treacherous viper who had murdered her family.

"How could Father not have seen it?" she asked petulantly, finally giving voice to a question that had obviously been paramount in her mind.

Duncan merely raised a brow and stepped around a fallen log, picking his way carefully through the grass. This time of year there could be snakes and not just the legless kind to worry about in the tall grass.

"Howe and my father had been friends since the Orlesian occupation. They fought in the war together! I know the Howes sided first with the Orlesians, but after the Couslands retook Harper's Ford, they fought with us. And the Howes were always coming to visit, or we would stay at their estate in Amaranthine."

"People can surprise you sometimes," Duncan offered. "Maybe your father never really knew him."

"Perhaps…." she mused.

There followed a silence he was reluctant to bridge for a time.

* * *

They were coming up on a small town and Duncan paused. He had intended to restock his supplies in Highever, but obviously hadn't been able to, and between the two of them they would soon run out of food if he didn't find some soon. He also needed to send word ahead to Ostagar and the Grey Wardens stationed there with the king waiting for his return. He opened his pack and pulled out his dark gray woolen cloak, handing it to Valora.

"My lady, please cover your hair and as much of your armor as you can. We don't know what we'll find in town and I don't want to draw any undue attention to us."

She pulled the material around her, covering what she could, and followed Duncan as he picked his way down the incline to the town. It was a small place, but he found a messenger service. He quickly penned a missive to be taken to the Grey Warden Lieutenant in Ostagar and passed that to the rider who promptly nodded, pocketed the coin with King Maric's profile on it, and rode southward.

* * *

Valora found a clothier and insisted on getting a clean, cream-colored shirt, dark blue leggings and dark brown leather boots to change into. Her armor was caked with blood and she was starting to smell. She wanted a bath desperately. Maybe she could get one at the inn. A real bed would be nice.

Then pleasant thoughts of food, fire and a soft bed soured as she wondered how she could possibly be thinking of such things when her family was gone. Their corpses had probably been subjected to the worst indignities. She frowned as practicality won out and she realized she needed those small comforts, so she shouldn't disparage herself for wanting them.

She met up with Duncan at the inn, a small two story building bearing a sign of an axe resting in a log. He nodded as she approached.

"I've arranged two rooms for us upstairs. We're fortunate they don't have more travelers here."

"Good, I'll retire to mine for now. I wanted to get a bath."

He gave her the key and indicated her room. "I thought you might. I've had water brought to your room. I'll stay here and see what rumors I can pick up. Maybe we'll hear more on your brother."

"Maybe they did pass this way. I'll be down shortly. Thank you."

Valora walked into the room, grateful for the tub of hot water that had been filled for her use, and pulled off her heavy armor. She gave it a cursory glance and determined she would have to examine it in closer detail after she was done with her bath in order to clean it and look for damaged links in the mail. It would be nice to know where any weaknesses were that could be exploited. Not that there was much she could do at the moment, but perhaps when they reached Ostagar, she could get a smith to make repairs.

Next, she removed the padding that separated her skin from the metal of her armor, and winced as she unwound the bindings that kept her breasts from hurting by being jarred around in fights. She winced as she probed sore spots gently.

She had a large dark bruise along her left side where one of Howe's men had struck her with the biggest maul she'd ever seen. He'd been a huge brute of a man and she was lucky she'd managed to sidestep most of the blow, though even a glancing one had caused considerable pain. Glad she hadn't caught the full brunt of that blow, she had ducked under him and shoved her blade into his stomach ending the fight rather quickly. At least no ribs seemed broken. That was the most tender injury and breathing while trying to keep pace with Duncan had been a monumental effort, requiring almost her entire concentration.

She examined myriad cuts and small contusions, taking note of which would require dressing or a poultice. Most were superficial and would be gone tomorrow. One bruise in the small of her back ached and she stood before the mirror in the room trying to see it better. She determined it wasn't sufficient to cause her imminent demise and would likely feel better after a good long soak in the tub.

She had been fortunate her father had seen to her training. Had she been just a pampered noblewoman she would now be rotting in Highever with her family.

She moved to turn away, but her eyes fell on her face reflected in the mirror and she was caught by it. The visage looking back at her, with eyes red rimmed by unshed and sporting dark circles from haunted, sleepless nights, made her seem so much older than her twenty-three years of life. Her hair, dusted with soot and dirt, made her almost as gray as her mother. In fact, she looked so much like her mother she had to stop and remind herself that this was but a reflection. Only in her eyes did anyone see Bryce physically in his daughter. Those clear, blue sky-colored eyes were his. However, his expressions and mannerisms, his carriage were all mirrored in his "pup."

Valora sighed softly and began to unbraid her long black hair. Then, she stepped over to the tub, testing it with one foot, and deciding it was acceptable, eased in with a soft groan of pleasure as hot water soothed sore feet, cuts and bruises.

* * *

An hour later, she sat on the small bed and brushed out her wet hair with a stiff brush purchased from a local merchant. Linens had been provided, and she was wrapped in one while she worked the worst of the tangles from hair reaching to the middle of her back. Once dried, she braided it and wrapped it into twin rolls at the base of her neck and felt suddenly much more herself again.

More comfortable now that she had attended to her injuries and gotten cleaned, she dressed and then sat and looked over the chain mail coat. The padding was mostly intact, and though the chain mail shirt had a couple damaged or missing links, it was in remarkable shape. It would do for now, she determined. She would look into repairs when she got to Ostagar. For now, she satisfied herself with cleaning and oiling it in preparation for use later.

A knock at the door heralded a maid carrying a tray with a bowl of lamb and pea soup, some dark bread and a pitcher of water.

"Your companion said you would rather eat up here. If milady wishes I can get something else or empty the tub?"

"Thank you, clearing the tub out would be good," replied Valora.

She poked her spoon at the grayish, thick stew. Then, with a shrug, she wolfed it down. Hunger being its own special seasoning, and without tacit acknowledgement of her recent brush with death adding to it, Valora marveled that something so unappealing in appearance could actually taste better than it looked. In fact, she not only ate all of it, but used her bread to soak up as much as she could, then she drank most of the pitcher of water. She hadn't realized until just that moment how hungry and thirsty she really was.

Satiated at last, she stretched sore, tired muscles that felt much better after her long soak and then crawled into bed. Pulling the counterpane over herself, she entered a fitful sleep almost immediately. Her dreams were troubled, but indistinct, and she kept waking with a feeling of restless ambivalence throughout the night.

* * *

Dawn found Duncan knocking at her door to wake her. Grumbling, she reluctantly forced herself out of bed to permit him entry.

"We must depart, my lady. I've gotten us traveling provisions and purchased a pack for you to carry your things," he said, placing her pack on the bed. "I've also restocked on poultices if you need any further attending for your injuries."

A soft sigh of regret passed her lips as she regarded the soft, warm bed and thought about the next couple of weeks that would be spent on a hard bedroll on the ground, but it couldn't be helped.

In short order, her hair was in braids and secured and she hefted the pack over one shoulder, wrapped a gray cloak over her shoulders and head and was ready to depart.

As they picked their way through the market, she spied a young beggar, a child covered in mud who couldn't be more than seven. He stretched out a thin, grime covered hand toward her in supplication.

"A coin, milady?" he said. "My mum is sick and hasn't been able to work, and we haven't anything to eat or warm blankets. Please? With a few silvers, I can get a healer to look at her, and maybe buy some food and a warm blanket for her."

She paused, the Teyrna-in-training coming out. Even though this wasn't Highever, the child reminded her so much of Oren, and she had been ingrained with a desire to help the less fortunate, that passing by him wasn't a choice.

"Take me to your mother, child," she said.

"My lady," Duncan began, then at her sharp look, shrugged.

"Respect all equally, Duncan," she reiterated an oft told lesson.

"That is not my issue with this, but we'll discuss it later," he said.

"Please enlighten me as we walk why I should not help a child in need?"

"Later will do, my lady. For now, since you are committed to this task, let us accompany the boy to his home and be done with it quickly."

"I'm a girl!" the bedraggled ragamuffin said, her voice registering some shock that they couldn't tell on sight.

The squalor that greeted her at the little girl's hovel made Valora gasp and cover her nose discreetly, for the small, one roomed hovel reeked of sickness and death. The little girl's mother was in the Maker's hands now, but she didn't seem to understand that her mother had been gone for days.

Valora frowned and took the girl's hand. "I'm sorry, child. She's with the Maker now. Do you have anyone, an aunt, uncle, or an older sibling maybe that could look after you? Where is your father?"

"Papa died when I was really little. It's been me and my mum since."

"We'll go to the chantry then. I'll arrange everything."

"Why can't I stay with Mother? She will get better, won't she? If she went to the Maker, when will she come back?"

Valora sighed softly and bent down to the little girl's level. She stroked her hair soothingly and tried to speak calmly to the girl.

"No, I'm sorry, little one. Your mother is gone and she won't be back. She went to be with your papa and the Maker. Do you understand?"

A big tear dropped out of her eyes as the little girl nodded her head and again, Valora thought of little Oren.

"It'll be all right, little one. Come, let's go to the chantry and speak to the revered mother."

The small chantry was a slightly cleaner and sturdier building than the surrounding ones, and the revered mother had a kind face and voice, encouraging Valora to trust this was the best path. It being the only choice left to her, it had to be actually. She explained the situation, and left several coins to arrange for care for the child and a pyre for her mother.

* * *

Valora was silent for a long time after that. They made good time but hours later when they stopped to rest and eat, she finally spoke about what had been on her mind.

"Duncan, I'm sorry, I was wrong earlier." He raised a brow and regarded her curiously. "I don't want vengeance on Howe's family. Just Howe."

He nodded, but said nothing. So that's what she had been quietly musing about all day.

"What did you want to tell me earlier?" she asked.

He was reluctant to discuss it as it could lead to topics he didn't want to bring up just yet. She was far more inquisitive and discerning than he had heard. Once she didn't have grief clouding her thought processes, he felt there wasn't much she would miss. Perhaps if he didn't volunteer too much...

"A Grey Warden protects all people. It is their duty, but sometimes being a Grey Warden means sacrifices."

"Sacrifices? A child?"

"To save a 1,000 more, yes."

She frowned. "Well, that's a terrible way to look at it! I—I can't turn my back on someone in need."

"Sometimes those two goals aren't mutually exclusive, but you must learn when to bend and when to stand by your convictions. Stopping the Blight, defeating the darkspawn, is our only goal. If by your actions today, you've delayed us past the next battle, the darkspawn could overrun Ostagar."

"Just because you or I aren't there?" she gasped, incredulously.

"While I don't think you or I personally will make a difference by ourselves, it's just an analogy to emphasize my point. Sometimes in battle all it takes is one person to turn the tide."

She was silent for a time, then spoke as they broke camp to continue.

"Being a Grey Warden isn't what I was led to believe, Duncan. Just how different is the reality from the legends? Are the Wardens heroes or not?"

"We are men and women who have a purpose to our lives that takes precedence over our own life. And sometimes it demands sacrifices from those we love or protect as well."

"I won't change who I am just to make you happy, Duncan."

"You don't have to. I get the feeling you will find the Wardens fit you quite well."

'_If you survive,'_ he amended in his head.

"Oh, you dare to think you know me so well, do you?" she snapped and strode ahead, anger making her steps quicken.

He chuckled softly to himself, thinking,_ 'Well, I got you to stop dawdling and asking uncomfortable questions.'_

* * *

Duncan got her iciest cold shoulder for the remainder of the day. Towards dusk, as they set up camp, she gathered firewood and was still thinking. Just _how_ different would being a Grey Warden make her? She had lost everything—home, family and safety, and traded it for…what? A cold, unhappy existence fighting darkspawn until she either died or was killed? By then, would there be anything left of her, the person she was now, to even care? And what might that life make of her by then?

Angrily, she stalked back to camp, threw down the wood near the fire and sat with her back to Duncan.

"So do you intend to pout like a child all the way to Ostagar?" he asked.

"I'm not pouting," she protested, realizing as she said it how lame it sounded. "All right, maybe a little, but living in our world is already hard enough, why would I deliberately choose to make it harder for someone else?" He chuckled, but she wasn't amused. "Oh, pray tell _what_ it is about what I said you find _so_ amusing, Duncan?"

"It's not so much what you said as your attitude. You sound just like our junior member, Alistair," he said, obvious affection in his voice, cutting the sting of his laughter to her pride. "He, too, wants to look at the brighter side of things. Optimism is all well and good, but it's your pragmatic side that will serve you better as a Grey Warden. Being a Warden means sacrifice. Sometimes those sacrifices are, thankfully, not in vain."

"I never wanted to be a Grey Warden, remember? Father had to practically shove me out with you to get me to go," she pointed out. Damn Bryce and his "Couslands always do their duty" speech. "If stopping the Blight is my duty, I'll do what I have to, but don't presume to tell me how I'll do it. There are some parts of me I won't give up, no matter what you say."

He merely nodded once, an action that signified he heard her without attaching too much emphasis on what she said.

"You don't believe me?" she asked. "Perhaps you should just release me from my vow now, Duncan, and let me move on to my vengeance if I'm so unsuitable!"

His voice stayed calm, but there was added steel behind his words that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I have no intention of doing that. Make no mistake, Valora, you are not a volunteer. You never were. Had I chosen, I could have dragged you from Castle Highever despite your father's disapproval and he could have said nothing in protest. You were recruited because Grey Wardens are needed. We need as many good recruits as we can find."

"Even if I didn't want to go with you?"

"Even then. Of course, as I told your father, I'm not in the habit of recruiting by force. It isn't wise to incur the enmity of the nobility, but I would have been within my rights to force the issue. The Grey Wardens are too few, Valora."

"I know. You said in Highever that you've found only a few," she begrudgingly admitted.

"You will come to see in time, but for now you must trust that what is done is necessary. I know trust isn't easy for you after what happened, but you must try. I wouldn't have recruited you if I felt you were unsuitable. You have the skills, Valora, you just have to let your wisdom match them. Cheer up, I imagine this won't be the last argument we have."

* * *

A distant sound as she was helping to break camp the following morning thrilled her. Her heart stopped beating, then thudded in her chest as she strained to hear the sound again. She paused while rolling her bedroll up to stow it away into her pack when the sound became more distinct.

Maker's mercy, she knew that bark as well as her family's voices!

"Valora?" Duncan made her name a query.

She waved him silent and strained to hear. Then, putting two fingers to her lips she let loose a long, sharp, loud whistle. The answering barks increased in frequency and greeting and she began to race back in the direction they had come from.

She was met by a huge mabari warhound with hay colored fur, massive paws and shoulders. He leapt onto her shoulders, placing paws on either side of her head and licked her face. She responded with a gleeful squeal of excitement. She hugged him, burying her face in the animal's warm fur, rolling in the grass and tussling with him.

"Oh, Maker! Hohaku! You even smell like home! Where…how did you find us, boy?"

In answer, he wagged his stumpy tail and yelped when she hugged him a little too tightly. Hot tears burned her eyes and flowed freely down her cheeks to be licked off by the irrepressible hound as she was assailed by memories of those she had loved and lost.

She did a quick assessment of his injuries and found the worst of them was a knot on the back of his head, which had doubtless rendered him unconscious for a time. Dried blood clotted it and she worried over it, wondering if he had a concussion. Grabbing a poultice from her knapsack, she wrapped it round his head and then sat back to admire her handiwork. Soggy laughter emerged at the comical tilt of his head at her, mingling tears and mirth.

"He looks like he's wearing a hat!" she exclaimed. "So silly!"

Hohaku fretted with the bindings before he managed to slip them off, and then bounded around his mistress, barking as if impatient to be gone from here.

"I think he's even more eager to get to Ostagar than you are, Duncan."

The only reply from her companion was a soft chuckle.

The arrival of the mabari did much to improve her mood and her step was lighter that day with Hohaku at her side.

* * *

The land they traveled through began to change in texture. Duncan, as all Grey Wardens do, recognized the taint that had already begun corrupting the land. Sickly plant life, blighted and blackened, tried to overcome the illness of the earth around it, but failed. Animals were found twisted and corrupted. Most already dead, and if not, they had to be mercifully killed by them as they traveled.

"It takes decades for the land to recover from a Blight," Duncan said, as he stood up from slitting the throat of a blighted deer. "We must make haste. Ostagar isn't far now."

"How far are we, Duncan?" she asked, chewing on a bit of dried meat as they walked.

She felt certain Hohaku would have warned her of anything dangerous, but he seemed to be rather calm, though he obviously disliked the blighted scenery.

"There are some stragglers, but the main horde is south of here, in the Korcari Wilds. We're quite close now, though. We should arrive at Ostagar soon. See the white stone against the terrain?" He pointed out the landscape.

She nodded to where he indicated not more than a half day's walk away.

"Come," he urged.

For a moment, Valora stood and regarded the way she had come from. Once she did this, there would be no turning back. That young innocent who had loved and laughed in Highever would be gone, she feared. She had to steel her courage for the task ahead. Stop the Blight, make Howe pay, and after, if she was still alive and if Fergus lived, they would restore their home.

It was a girl who had left Highever, not much more than a child, but now she put that childhood aside as she followed Duncan toward her unknown future. She felt the invisible hand of every Cousland before her guiding her and suddenly her path was clear. Duty could also lead her to a freedom she had never known before. Realizing this, her step was lighter.


End file.
